


Caffeine and Copperplate

by floraltohru



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Barista Yuki, Gay Yuki, Librarian Kakeru, Librarian Machi, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oblivious Yuki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floraltohru/pseuds/floraltohru
Summary: There's an old adage about crying over spilled coffee.
Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou, Manabe Kakeru/Sohma Yuki
Comments: 31
Kudos: 76





	1. Rencontre

Loud masticaters and fidgety pen-clickers belong in the ninth circle of hell. It’s apparent that Dante wrote  _ Inferno _ before the advent of potato chips and widespread use of ballpoint pens. 

Yuki would like to focus on his comms essay. That’s what he came to the library to do. Focus. If he wanted to sit and stew in his own irritation, he would have gone to the coffeeshop early and watched Shigure’s painful attempts to flirt with the cute (read: barely legal) regulars. Shigure, now that Yuki thinks about it, might also belong in the ninth circle of hell. 

From his usual table, he shoots the librarian a  _ look _ . They’ve developed an easy sort of camaraderie since he’s started coming in before his shift and during his breaks; her desperate eye contact tells Yuki that she’s just as ready to detonate. 

He attempts to glare at the pen-clicking chip-chewer, but they’ve got on headphones and are facing away from his wrathful gaze. Yuki glares anyway, hoping they can feel his eyes burning the back of their head like laser-beams. If they can, they don’t make any indication. They certainly don't stop the chewing. Or the clicking. He’ll have to work on that. 

His eyes are starting to dry out after a few minutes of heavy glaring, so Yuki packs his laptop and his books into his messenger bag, defeated. His shift is almost starting in any case; maybe he’ll have time to snag a muffin and a quick chat with Tohru before he has to take up his post at the register. A consolation prize. 

“Hi,” he says, stopping on his way out to greet the librarian.

“Hi,” Machi says. “Read anything good lately?” 

“Not particularly,” he admits. “I was reading  _ Moby Dick _ but I had to put it down halfway through.” 

“That’s fair. It’s not for everyone.” 

“I’m looking for recommendations, though, so let me know if there’s anything I should pick up next time I’m in.” 

“I’ll be on the lookout,” she says.

Another patron approaches before he can ask - like he’s been trying to do for a couple weeks now - what her coffee order is. Machi has been Yuki’s saving grace in the reference section on more than one occasion, and she deserves all the free espresso he can muster up for her services. 

Instead, he offers her an awkward goodbye wave while she helps the woman search for a book in the database. Next time, he thinks. 

The weather is pleasant, the final vestiges of summer fading away into a comfortable autumn, the leaves of the trees arranged in gradient, meandering to the ground every so often like lazy drops of honey. 

The public library is an easy block away from the coffee shop, and Yuki is kicking himself for not picking up on that fact sooner. It’s a much better place to study than the student center or, god forbid, his apartment. 

He’s fairly certain his roommates have a  _ thing _ for each other, though neither one of them will admit it, and it’s getting to be downright painful to watch. 

They all started living together at the beginning of their sophomore year after two semesters working together in the coffee shop. They have their scuffles, on occasion - Kyo outright refuses to do his dishes within any sort of reasonable time frame and Tohru practically does the dishes before she's swallowed her last bite of dinner - but for the most part, they've got a model household. 

For the last few months, however, Tohru and Kyo have been avoiding eye contact, stammering around their words, and freaking out whenever they so much as brush against each other in the hall. Yuki feels like a third wheel at best and a voyeur at worst. 

He tries to avoid the situation altogether. It'll work out, probably. In any case, it's impossible to get any work done with so much obvious (oblivious) pining afoot. 

The door to the coffee shop opens with the chiming of bells, and Tohru greets him with a chipper "Welcome to Zodiac Coffee!" before realizing who she's speaking to. 

"Yuki! You're early," she says, beaming at him. "But I thought you were working on that essay?" 

"No luck getting anything done at the library, unfortunately."

"That's too bad. Was someone on their phone again?" 

He cringes at the memory; last week, a woman had spent two hours gossiping to a friend in the middle of the reference section in what she, apparently, had assumed was a whisper. 

Dante should've added a tenth circle. 

"No. But someone was clicking a pen. And chewing."

"Oh no." Tohru winces. "Can I get you something before your shift starts?" 

She's a master at avant garde coffee concoctions - the honey marzipan latte she invented last week was exquisite - but Yuki asks for a cappuccino instead. And a muffin. Blueberry, of course. It's the best kind. 

He's a simple man, really. 

The shop is mostly empty, Yuki notes, and he's equal parts annoyed and relieved. He would've tried writing here if he'd known it would be relatively free of distractions. But on the bright side, it might be a quiet shift.

"Any plans for the afternoon?" he asks, leaning against the counter. 

"I think I'm going to see a movie with…" she stops herself, blushing furiously. "Just a few friends, it's not a big deal or anything." Of the two of them, Yuki wonders who she's trying to convince. “Will you be home for dinner?” 

Yuki nods. Upon observing his eating habits their freshman year, Tohru had taken it upon herself to be responsible for feeding him. In the beginning, that meant teaching him how to cook. 

After he nearly burnt down an entire first-year dorm during Tohru’s cooking lesson entitled “How to Boil Water,” it meant making sure she prepared a plate for him whenever she cooked for herself. As long as he helped with the grocery shopping, it was an even trade. 

“What are you cooking?” he asks. 

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m going to the grocery after the movie with - um, with Kyo.” 

_ There _ it is. 

Yuki tries to hide the smile creeping in at the sight of Tohru’s blush. Somewhere, he thinks, it’s highly possible their other roommate is wearing one to match. 

He finishes off the rest of his muffin and slides behind the counter, stowing his messenger bag beneath the register. “I can get started if you want to leave early. I’m here anyway, I might as well.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking nearly panic-stricken. “I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

He shrugs, pulling his apron from its designated peg and tying it around his waist. “It’s fine. I’m going to be here anyway, I might as well make myself useful. Go on.” 

“Alright,” she says, but she backs away from the register slowly, as though giving him the chance to change his mind. “I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.” 

Tohru turns around at the door. “Oh! And text me to let me know what you want for dinner.” 

He waves her away to the jingling of the door chimes.

And then promptly wishes he still had someone to talk to. 

The shop is quiet in the afternoon; a few regulars make pleasant, if idle, small talk with Yuki before whisking away their drinks to various cozy corners to study or, in at least one case, nap. 

He doesn't quite abide by the same greeting standards that Tohru does. Maybe that's part of the problem. 

Angel that she is, Tohru cleaned and prepped everything during her shift, so the place looks impeccable. It's a lovely gesture, but he's left with nothing to do when the day comes to a grinding halt. 

For a while, business is slow enough that Yuki contemplates digging  _ Moby Dick _ out of his bag and giving it another try. 

It was really boring, though. 

He settles for scrolling Twitter on his phone for a while instead. 

Yuki bites back a groan when he checks the time; he's barely an hour into a six-hour shift. He hasn't even laid eyes on Shigure since he started. 

Probably napping in the back office again. Or maybe taking a leisurely walk under the pretense of making a supply run. Odds are fifty/fifty, Yuki muses. 

Had he stopped to think about it, Yuki would have recognized the tedium as solace, a fleeting calm before the storm. 

A sorority event wraps up, and the shop floods with an array of young women all with their own highly-personalized coffee orders. They're all very sweet and they tip well, but a second wave hits before Yuki has all of them out the door. 

One of the larger lectures from a nearby academic building has also let out, apparently on a group assignment day. The students drift around in clusters of three or four, huddled and whispering and trying to find standing room in a now-packed coffee shop; the brave ones send out a scout to scavenge for a table. 

Yuki wishes Shigure had paid better attention to the schedule and assigned a second person to his shift today. Hell, he'd even settle for Haru, and Haru is a total space cadet. 

Names and faces and customers are blending together, and Yuki is praying to every deity that he's heard of that he can just get their orders right the first time and move on. The last thing he needs is a mile-long list of drinks to make over again. 

It's like that for what feels like an eternity; a constant, steady pulse to match the growing pain behind his eyes. 

Yuki almost doesn't notice when he clears the line, clapping a plastic lid on top of the final order. 

"Sho?" Yuki calls, and a tall, dark-haired customer - Sho, presumably - saunters back up to the counter. 

Yuki is sure he'd remember him if he had seen him in the shop before. He's not intimately familiar with every customer, but their clientele is mostly composed of regulars. The coffee shop is a popular haunt among the grad students, most of whom have taken to addressing Yuki on a first name basis. 

Maybe he's a transfer. He doesn't look much older than Yuki, and he's a sharply dressed in a T-shirt, a blazer, and jeans. A guest speaker, maybe? Just another student fresh off a class presentation? It's entirely possible Yuki is just reading too far into things. He tries to shake off the feeling. 

Normally, he would set the coffee down and leave it there. He  _ should _ . He  _ always _ does. He almost does. 

_ Almost _ .

But halfway there, Sho reaches out to take the cup directly from Yuki, smile splitting his face in two and crinkling the skin around his dark brown eyes. He has  _ really _ nice eyelashes. 

When their hands meet, Yuki feels like he’s stuck his fingers into an open socket. On instinct, he yanks his hand away as though he’s been burned. 

Unfortunately not the best course of action while attempting to complete a successful coffee hand-off. 

“Oh my god,” Yuki says, and he can practically see the deep cherry blush blooming in his own cheeks. “I am  _ so _ fucking sorry. 

Sho blinks for a moment, bewildered, staring at the blooming coffee stain on the front of his shirt. 

Yuki grabs a handful of napkins and presses them into his hands, still babbling an apology. And,  _ oh god, _ other customers are starting to stare. 

He grabs another napkin and begins dabbing at Sho’s T-shirt, jerking his hand back when they entangle again. And, oh, he thinks belatedly, that probably didn’t make the situation any less awkward. 

_ If there’s a God _ , Yuki thinks,  _ he’ll let the ground open up and swallow me alive. _

There’s apparently not a God. Not a merciful one at least. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says again, once he's accepted that there's no escape. Those seem to be the only words he can come up with. “I can refund you and make you a new one. Or - I mean, if you want to - do you want to speak to my manager?” 

"Don't worry about it! Next one's on you, though." He considers this for a moment and then lets out a laugh too big for the coffee shop. "Not literally, though. That would be rude.” 

“Absolutely. I’m so sorry, what did you have, again?” Yuki balls his hands into fists in an attempt to calm their trembling so he can make another drink without spilling that one too. 

Sho pushes up the sleeve of his blazer to check his watch. “Actually, I’m running a little late so… rain check?” He reaches across the counter to pat Yuki on the shoulder, and Yuki is still too addled to be perturbed by the breach of etiquette. “Just remember me for next time, I'll hold you to it. And don’t worry about it man, seriously.” 

Yuki knows he’s going to worry about it anyway. 

He offers another weak apology as the door chimes ring and the man takes off out the door and down the street. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Face still burning, Yuki starts wiping down the counter, willing the rest of the customers to stop casting curious glances his way.

“Did I hear a commotion?” Shigure asks, sticking his head out from the back room to survey the scene. 

“No, it’s nothing, it’s fine, I handled it,” Yuki snaps, pushing past Shigure to grab a mop. 

“That  _ does _ imply that there was a commotion to handle,” Shigure says, tapping his chin with his pointer finger. Yuki wishes he would go back to “managing” from a distance. 

“Yes. Exactly. Like I said. Handled. Don’t worry about it.”

Shigure leans against the counter, resting his chin on his hands in an attempt at angelic. “Well, don’t you look flustered.” 

“I do not,” Yuki says, but he realizes too late that snapping at his cousin like a petulant child isn’t helping his cause. 

“It’s adorable. Cute girl?” 

“No.” 

“Cute boy?” 

“Could you shut up?” 

Shigure starts making himself a latte, leaning up against the counter. “Ah, young love," he croons. 

“I am not in love.” 

“I do adore a good meet-cute.” 

“Shigure, I am begging you to shut your mouth for just. Five minutes.” 

He finishes off his latte with a disgusting amount of caramel syrup and a handful of chocolate flakes and pats Yuki on the head. “Your wish, my command, et cetera, et cetera,” he says, returning to his office. Hopefully, Yuki thinks, never to return. 

At least, not until Yuki’s shift is over. 

✱

Tohru and Kyo are still waiting to eat dinner when Yuki gets home. 

“Thank god, I’m  _ starving _ ,” Kyo says, and he’s got a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth before Yuki’s shoes are off at the door.

“You really didn’t have to wait,” Yuki tells Tohru, pointedly ignoring Kyo. 

“Kyo’s just being a bit dramatic. We got ice cream after the movie.” She’s maintaining her composure for now, but the tips of her ears are burning a telltale pink. 

“Ice cream is not a meal, Tohru.” Kyo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It doesn’t count.” 

She rolls her eyes, handing Yuki a plate. “I made the dough myself. But it’s a new recipe, so please tell me if it’s terrible.” 

“I will.” He absolutely will not do that. 

It’s a moot point anyway; like everything Tohru’s ever cooked, the pizza is spectacular. Light and airy and perfectly seasoned. If she didn’t have her heart set on studying early childhood education, she should’ve gone to culinary school. She should have her own cooking show, Yuki thinks, or at least a YouTube channel. 

Not that her skills were ever enough to salvage his own. 

“It’s really good,” he says, reaching for a napkin. “Did you make the sauce yourself too?” 

She nods. “With tomatoes from the garden.” 

Yuki feels a surge of pride knowing that the little plot he maintains on the back patio has contributed in some way to their meal. She probably used some basil from the counter top garden, too. 

“How was your shift?” she asks. 

He feels the color drain out of his face. Kyo laughs. “That bad, huh? Did you get the weird girl who always orders exactly six shots of espresso and two pumps of sugar-free vanilla?” 

Yuki is a little bit convinced that’s a collective hallucination as he hasn’t encountered her yet, but all the other baristas swear to have dealt with her at some point or another. 

“No.” 

"Lucky. I never can get her to shut up. I think she's trying to tell me her whole life story one coffee order at a time." Kyo looks vaguely haunted. 

"No. I've still never seen her."

Tohru reaches across the table and sets a hand on his arm, her motherly instincts kicking in full-force. “What happened? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It's just… I spilled coffee on a customer today.” 

“Is that all?” Kyo chuckles. 

“Oh no,” Tohru murmurs. “Were they upset? Did they cause a scene?” 

“No,” he admits. 

“Then what’s the problem?” Kyo asks. “Accidents happen.” He reaches out for another slice of pizza. 

It’s a decent point, Yuki admits begrudgingly. Accidents happen. He’s not really sure why he’s so riled up about it, to be honest. 

“I understand.” Tohru says, patting his arm before grabbing her empty plate and his and making her way to the sink. “Sometimes when I have a bad day even the little things seem like a big deal.” 

Yuki smiles weakly at her. Tohru is going to be an  _ incredible _ kindergarten teacher. He can already hear her addressing her class about their “big feelings” and other complicated emotional truths. 

He joins her at the sink, drying off the dishes as she washes them.

“I’m going to go shower,” Kyo announces. 

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” Yuki tells him. 

“Whatever.” 

Her forearms still submerged in the sink, Tohru turns to Yuki. “Is there anything specific that’s bothering you? Anything I can help with?” 

“Nothing specific. Just a bad day.” 

“I understand. Let me know if you have something you’d like to talk about.” 

“I think I just need to shower and go to bed,” he admits.  _ And maybe pop a handful of advil, _ he adds, but only to himself. 

“Alright,” Tohru says. “You know I’m here if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” 

She pulls him into a side hug. “Goodnight, Yuki.” 

“Goodnight.” 

✱

Once, Yuki dumped an iced latte and a blended cappuccino all over a couple already on an ill-fated first date. 

He could tell from the woman’s general posture and demeanor that she was approximately one more tiresome anecdote away from faking her own death and running off to Paraguay. Her date either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

When their drinks came out, neither of them moved to pick them up from the counter, so Yuki walked them over, approaching as he would a frightened animal. 

His brain was focused, determined. In and out, deliver the beverages; a simple objective. His feet didn’t get the message. 

He tripped over his own shoelaces and splashed espresso and milk all over the couple. 

“No worries!” the girl said, and she smiled as she stood up to grab a few napkins. 

“What the  _ hell _ , man.” Her date jolted up, almost knocking the cafe table over. Yuki reached out to steady it, then stumbled backward when the man got in his face. “Walk much? What’s your problem? I want to talk to your manager.” 

Yuki cut his eyes to Momiji, standing behind the counter helping the woman with her sweater. “Yes, absolutely.” Momiji gave the woman his best customer-service smile and disappeared, reemerging moments later with Shigure on his heels. 

“Is something the matter?” Shigure asked, his practiced smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

The man grabbed Yuki by the sleeve of his sweater. “This kid,” he said, shaking Yuki, “dumped coffee all over me. Look at this!” Yuki practiced the breathing techniques he’d learned as a kid in karate, and started counting to ten. 

Shigure pried the man’s fingers off of Yuki’s arm, pulling him away. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding more like a telephone operator than a person. “We’re happy to refund your drink, and we’ll even offer you a gift card for next time. I do, however, ask that you refrain from manhandling my employees, hm?” 

“Fuck you,” the man spat. 

“Hm, no thank you.” 

The man kicked the empty plastic cup in Yuki’s direction and unleashed a string of swears - some even more creative than Kyo’s the last time Yuki had beat him during board game night. 

“Well, now, we’ve tried the civil approach. I’m afraid if you don’t leave of your own volition we’ll have to call the authorities.” 

“You do that. Call the cops, see if I fucking care.” 

Behind the counter, Momiji picked up his cell phone, his voice as chipper as ever as he spoke to the receptionist at the police station. Yuki didn’t even notice until later that he’d swept the man’s date into the back room in the middle of the commotion. 

The officer who showed up was well-mannered and even-tempered. In the presence of a uniform, the man cowered and left without another word; although, he did turn to flip off Yuki, Shigure, and the rest of the customers before he went. 

Problem solved. Yuki was ready to sweep it under the rug. 

The rest of the baristas talked about it for a week, at least. They acted like Yuki was too emotionally fragile to work by himself, even though he assured them he was fine. It really didn’t bother him; learning that customers were assholes was Lesson Number One for every single person in the service industry and he was genuinely nonplussed. 

The only one who didn’t irritate Yuki over it was Kyo, but even he was his own brand of annoying, rolling his eyes whenever someone else brought it up. “Jesus. Enough already, he’s not some shrinking violet.”

And, all told, Yuki had thought about that particular episode less than he’s thinking about today’s incident. 

He rolls over, flipping his pillow so his ear rests against the cooler side. 

It doesn’t help. It was probably naive to think it would be that easy. 

Quite frankly, Yuki is irritated with himself for losing his composure, but he’s more irritated that he doesn’t understand why. He interacts with plenty of people, and his brain hasn’t short-circuited like that once since his first shift. 

He rolls over to his other side, trying not to think about it. 

Of course, that just makes him think about it even harder. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

✱

“Are you being chased by the mafia?”

“What?” Yuki nearly spills almond milk all over his shoes when he stops to look at Haru.

“You’re distracted, and every time the door opens you jump like you’re expecting someone to pull you into the back of a van with tinted windows or something.” Haru shrugs, as though he’s just made an observation about the weather and not concocted some totally  _ batshit _ theory about Yuki’s life of crime. 

“No, I am not being chased by the  _ mafia _ .” 

“I would support you if you were,” Haru assures him. 

“While I appreciate that, it won’t be necessary.” Yuki steams the cup of milk he’s holding and dumps it into a waiting paper cup. 

Haru leans back against the counter. “What is it then? The cops?” 

“Haru, I’m not being chased by anyone.” Yuki tops the drink with a sprinkle of cinnamon and offers a polite smile to the customer waiting for it. 

He studies Yuki, then shrugs and grabs a rag to wipe down the counters. They’re already clean, but there’s nothing better to do. “Suit yourself,” he says at last. “But you’re walking around like you’ve got horror movie background music playing in your brain all the time.” 

“Are you aware that sometimes the things you say don’t make sense?” 

“Yes,” Haru says without a hint of irony. 

“Weirdo.” When he says it, it's an observation, not an insult. 

“Thank you.” And again, Haru is being totally genuine. Typical. There’s not an inauthentic bone in that boy’s body.

“I spilled coffee on someone the other day,” Yuki says, and he’s not sure why the words are tumbling off his tongue but he watches in horror as they fall to the floor between himself and Haru.

“I do that all the time,” Haru says. And he does. It’s actually become something of an issue; Shigure outright refuses to schedule him alone for fear that, god forbid, he’ll have to hand someone a drink. “Were they mad?” 

Yuki shakes his head. “No, he… he was actually very level-headed about it?” 

“A nice customer? That is bizarre.” 

“Yeah,” Yuki says. 

“Sounds like it wasn’t a big deal or anything.” 

_ It was, though _ , Yuki wants to say. But he can’t figure out why the memory keeps drifting to the front of his mind; he’s lost sleep over it and still, he’s totally unable to decipher why it feels like a big deal even if it isn’t. 

“I guess not,” Yuki says at last. 

_ Don’t worry about it.  _

_ Just remember me for next time. _

_ I’ll hold you to it.  _

After a while, Haru lapses into companionable silence, no doubt daydreaming while he stares out over the coffeeshop. Yuki spends the rest of his shift trying not to flinch every time the door swings open, letting in cool gusts of autumn air and the ghost of a raucous laugh. 

✱

Yuki has an epiphany walking from one lecture to another. 

It’s entirely possible that “next time” was conceptual. 

Maybe Yuki was right; maybe he was just visiting, itinerant, in transit. He did leave in a hurry. Yuki claps a hand to his forehead.  _ Oh.  _ He was probably trying to catch a bus or something. 

_ How many times have I done that?  _ Yuki thinks.  _ Grab a coffee before my trip? It’s normal. _

There’s really no reason to believe he’ll ever see him again. 

_ Next time.  _ That’s just a thing people say to be polite. Or something. 

He’s determined to work his next shift without casting nervous glances over his shoulder every time the chimes on the door ring out. 

✱

There's no pen clicking when Yuki wanders into the library for a second time this week. 

Small mercies. 

"How are you?" Yuki asks politely when he approaches the counter. And this time he swears he's going to remember to ask Machi for her coffee order. 

"Fine," she says, and he wouldn't call the two of them friends just yet, but he's spoken to her enough to notice that her face seems more drawn and pinched than usual. She looks up from the computer only to spare him a passing glance. "We have a new librarian," she says flatly.

"Really?" 

She nods to someone approaching the counter and Yuki turns. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He’s met with an exuberant laugh. A  _ familiar _ exuberant laugh. One that can hardly be contained by four walls, even with the library’s high ceilings and carved alcoves. One that he's been hearing every so often, echoing through the corners of his brain when he's trying not to think about it. 

"Hey! You're the guy from the coffee shop, right?" 

This cannot be happening.

Yuki offers God a second chance. He’ll start going to Church in the morning if the earth opens up and swallows him whole. No dice. 

"Yeah," Yuki says weakly. And is that a migraine he feels taking root in his eye sockets? 

"Don't know if I ever got your name. I'm Kakeru Manabe, but my friends call me Sho." Kakeru holds out his hand for Yuki to shake.

Yuki does. Begrudgingly. He's not convinced this isn't a hallucination. Maybe the stress is getting to him. 

"No one calls you Sho," Machi mumbles under her breath, scanning another book into the system. 

Kakeru sprawls across the counter, looking faux-damaged. "You're so unkind, Machi." 

“Nope, just honest.” 

"And in front of my new friend, too!" 

"We're not…" Yuki starts, but bites off his words, deciding he doesn't have to like Kakeru, but he shouldn't be rude anyway.

He owes him at least some degree of civility, Yuki thinks, his face ablaze when he thinks about Kakeru's ruined shirt, and his look of shock when he found himself covered in coffee.

"You're ridiculous," Machi says, saving Yuki from finishing. "Did you get the books I asked for?" 

"Of course." He hauls a stack over the counter and sets them down with a  _ thunk _ that echoes through the library. 

An old woman sitting in an armchair across the library glares at him. 

“Could you please be a little less…” Machi waves her hand, gesturing up and down at him. 

“Machi. You wound me.” Kakeru rests his chin on top of the stack of books, staring up at her with doleful eyes. 

“Clearly not enough.” His teeth clack together when she yanks a book from the stack. 

“Ow!” 

She ignores his cries, staring resolutely at the computer screen as she scans the label. 

An uncomfortable silence settles over the three of them, punctuated only by Machi’s hunt-and-peck keyboard-clacking. At least, it’s uncomfortable for Yuki. Kakeru, to his credit, seems content to lean against the counter with his long legs stretched out in front of him, surveying the room. 

“You work here,” Yuki says at last, afraid he might actually combust if he doesn’t say  _ something _ to shatter the quiet.  _ Smooth, _ he thinks to himself.  _ You definitely sound like someone who knows how to make small talk.  _ “Did you just start?” he attempts. 

“Yeah! Funny story, actually,” he says. And Yuki thought people exaggerated when they described eyes as “twinkling,” but he can’t for the life of him think of a better turn of phrase for whatever it is that Kakeru is doing. 

“It’s really not very funny,” Machi says, breaking eye contact with her database to give Yuki an exasperated look. 

"So, Machi mentioned there was an opening," Kakeru continues. 

"You're making it sound a lot more voluntary on my part."

"And they liked my resume so I got an interview."

"They interviewed every candidate,” Machi says. “You’re not special."

"And they didn't even hold it against me that I showed up wearing three quarters of a caramel latte.” He casts a glance to Machi and, finding that she’s still frowning at the computer screen, he gives Yuki a wink. 

It feels downright indecent. Yuki feels his cheeks flush, and he instinctively stares down at his shoes. 

_ He was on his way to an interview?  _

There's no way Yuki can come back to the library. Possibly ever, but definitely not any time soon. 

✱

“Well, you look more pale than usual,” Kyo says when Yuki bursts through the front door.

“Are you alright?” Tohru asks. She holds the back of her hand to his forehead. “You feel warm. You’re not getting sick, are you?” 

“He probably is,” Kyo says, squinting at Yuki thoughtfully. 

Yuki  _ hates _ when they do this, talking over him like he’s their fretful child. 

“I’m fine,” Yuki says, brushing Tohru’s hand away gently. “What’s for dinner?” 

“Oh,” she blinks at him for a moment, temporarily at a loss for words. As she always does, she recovers quickly, smiling sunnily at him. “I was actually thinking we could all go out somewhere, since none of us are working tonight and it’s been a while since we’ve gone anywhere.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. Yuki could use the walk; already, he feels like the walls are closing in on him. He reaches up to fidget with his collar, unfastening the button at his throat before turning and walking back out the door. 

Yuki can practically hear the look Tohru and Yuki give each other as they follow him. Tohru quickens her pace, leaving Kyo behind to walk next to Yuki. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, a light hand resting on his forearm. 

“It’s really nothing,” he says. 

“Okay.” 

She slides her hand down his arm, grabbing his own and swinging it between the two of them. It’s a sweet gesture, one he’s never mistaken for romantic; it’s something she’s done since they were scared freshmen at orientation and she adopted him as her new friend. 

It had never felt awkward; from the moment he met her, Tohru felt like she’d always been a part of his life. A piece of his heart that was missing until he stumbled across it in between the dining hall and the student center. 

They barely fit three-wide on the sidewalk, but Kyo grabs her hand on the other side. Yuki wonders if he’s hoping it’s less platonic handholding, in his case. 

“Tohru,” Yuki says at last. “Where are we even going?” 

“It’s a surprise,” she tells him, but it doesn’t take him long to determine their destination; by now, Yuki could navigate their little college town blindfolded. 

Kyo and Haru can do it blackout drunk, but he thinks that might be a different skill set altogether. 

“Ta da!” Tohru cries, throwing her hands up outside Yuki’s favorite seafood restaurant. 

“What a surprise,” he says, tugging on one of her braids. He might not be surprised, but Yuki is touched. 

And it makes him feel a little bit worse. It’s stupid, allowing her to worry about him when he’s just being dramatic about something that doesn’t matter. 

Before he can spiral too far, Kyo shoves him lightly, and Yuki realizes he’s standing idly in the threshold. He follows Tohru into the restaurant, and tries to smile wide enough to keep her from asking any more questions. 

✱

After a few days of attempting to make do in his fallout zone of a bedroom, Yuki decides it’s time to buckle down and find a new workspace. 

The study rooms in the student center are an absolute bust. Yuki hates the ambience. Or maybe it's a lack of ambience; the beige walls start to close in around him after a while, he can hear every tick of the clock on the wall, and fifteen minutes before his time slot expires, a study group starts staring at him through the glass door, watching him like a zoo animal while they wait for the start of their reservation. 

On to the next. 

Tohru's study venue of choice is a corner of one of the elementary education buildings. 

At first, the idea of it conjures up a startling visual in Yuki's mind: peppy undergraduates in bright hues chirping to each other like so many colored birds while they cut up construction paper, or something like that. 

He's pleased to note that it isn't like that at all. And maybe, admittedly, a little bit embarrassed of his own preconceived notions. 

The students in this annex of the building look just as intense and focused as any others. Perhaps their choice of clothing is a bit more vivid than most majors, but that doesn't seem to detract from their determination. 

It's like a whole hall full of Tohrus. 

After a while, she pauses to take a sip from her travel mug of tea, wincing when she finds that it’s tepid. She screws the cap back on and appraises Yuki, who’s frowning at an essay question, his pencil tapping absently against his lips. 

“This is nice,” she says, smiling at him across the table. 

“It is.” He offers her a quick smile before returning to the essay question. He’s really not even sure what the professor is asking, much less the answer he’s looking for. 

“I thought you didn’t like working in any of the university buildings.” 

“I don’t, really. This one is fine, though.” He’ll have to come back to it. It’s alright, Yuki thinks grimly, because this assignment consists of three additional essays. He at least has the luxury of picking his poison. 

“I’m really enjoying studying with you,” she says, and he can hear the  _ but _ before it rolls off her tongue. “But is there a reason you’ve stopped going to the library?” 

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says. “I just wanted to change things up a bit.” Yuki hopes the bright smile he gives her will put a stop to her line of questioning, but he can feel he’s baring his teeth a millimeter too wide. 

“Okay,” Tohru says at last, but her own smile falters just slightly and Yuki can tell she had hoped the conversation would continue. 

But he doesn’t want to talk about it, and it’s stupid anyway.

They have to leave when his phone battery is about to die, and he finds himself longing for the library’s myriad outlets and Machi’s abundance of lost-and-found chargers. 

✱

After a few quiet shifts in the coffee shop, Yuki decides to try his luck. 

It’s a Thursday evening before a long weekend, so most of the campus has already gone home. 

Momiji and Kyo are working this afternoon, the former keeping his usual chatter to a minimum and the latter essentially only speaking when he needs to shush his coworker. 

Yuki sits down with a hazelnut latte (including some lopsided foam art, courtesy of Momiji) and a blueberry muffin (his vice). His headphones are in, his music is on, and he’s ready to go. 

For a while, it's almost workable. 

When his coffee runs out, Momiji brings him another one. His muffin plate is eventually replaced with an egg salad sandwich.

Kyo is pointedly ignoring him, but Yuki can feel Momiji's eyes on him every time he turns back to his laptop. 

It's unnerving. 

He takes his headphones off when Momiji approaches with a third coffee. Yuki is starting to lose track of how much caffeine he's consumed, but he's worried he'll realize too late that it's far too much. 

"Momiji," he says gently. 

"Yes?" 

"I really appreciate it, but I probably shouldn't have any more coffee."

Momiji wilts.  _ Damn.  _ "Oh," he says softly. "Alright."

Yuki should've just finished the damn coffee. Momiji is practically radiating doom and gloom from behind the counter, and it might be more distracting than whatever caffeine overdose Yuki was careening toward. 

As he should have expected, it doesn't take long for all hell to break loose. 

A woman balancing too many drinks spills them all on her way out the door. On its own, that wouldn’t be a major issue, but as Kyo leaves the counter to help her clean up - assuring her in his roundabout way that it’s not a problem - Momiji falls under fire, assaulted by a sudden wave of new customers. The line begins to wind through the shop; don’t these people have homes to get to or something? 

And it looks like the lever is stuck on the espresso machine again. 

With the sudden increase in noise, it’s not like Yuki’s going to get anything done anyway. He sighs, packs his bag, and steps behind the counter, deftly knotting his apron strings. 

He knows the exact angle to shove the lever at to get the machine to work again. 

“Thanks!” Momiji says brightly, but his eyes are still wide with panic. 

“Here.” Yuki sidesteps him to take up the register, and the two work in tandem for a while, thinning out the crowd. All told, Momiji is an efficient coworker, more quick and precise than Yuki had expected when they started working together. 

“Hey.” Kyo shoots Yuki with a pointed look when he returns, stowing the mop and bucket. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying or something?” 

Yuki opens his mouth to respond but really, he can’t come up with a decent excuse. 

“You’ve got some kind of complex,” Kyo mumbles. 

Finally, Yuki returns to his table and slumps over, defeated. He puts his headphones back in, but even so, he can hear the girls giggling at the next table and the man on the couch clacking away furiously at his keyboard. 

As the last straw, Yuki almost jumps out of his skin when he catches sight of a dark head of hair out of the corner of his eye. 

_ Has he come to collect?  _

But it's just his unfortunate cousin. 

All the same, Yuki has permanently lost his focus. He packs his bag, defeated. 

“Next time, you can use my office,” Shigure offers generously as Yuki brushes past him on the way out. “I’m sure it’ll be free of distractions.” 

✱

Suspiciously, Shigure is being far too agreeable about the whole situation. He offers his desk to Yuki without hesitation, and in fact brings him a coffee mid-way through his econ review session. 

_ Any time now, other shoe, _ Yuki thinks. 

"You must be truly desperate to have come to me for help." Shigure gives him a wry smile from the door, interrupting Yuki's train of thought. 

And  _ fuck _ Hatsuharu for his persistent pop culture influence. 

"Library has been too crowded," Yuki says. 

"That's strange," Shigure says, and Yuki recognizes his tone. He tries not to wince when Shigure continues. "Because I stopped by earlier and it was absolutely deserted."

"Yeah. Strange."

"I've dropped in a couple times this week, actually. Practically a ghost town." Shigure settles himself on the edge of his desk, looming over Yuki.

“Maybe I’ve just been going at a bad time,” Yuki says evenly. 

“Maybe you haven’t been going at all,” Shigure suggests, shrugging. 

“Why would I lie about going to the library?” Yuki keeps his eyes trained on his textbook, but he couldn’t read the words in front of him even if he wanted to. 

“Might it have something to do with the new librarian? I could have  _ sworn _ I saw someone almost identical fleeing our humble cafe covered in espresso not two weeks ago.” 

Of fucking course he did.

“Shut up.” 

“Didn’t I teach you to respect your elders?” Shigure prods. He’s having too much fun and Yuki would quite like to punch him in the gut. One obnoxious, meddling older brother is enough, actually. 

“I’m so sorry, what I meant to say was ‘fuck off.’” 

"I'm working on the schedule for next week.” Shigure picks his notebook up off the desk and appraises it over the top of his glasses. “Would you like to work the Saturday morning shift with Kagura?"

Yuki would like nothing more than to slap the stupid grin off Shigure's face. 

"I don't care where you put me," Yuki says. He starts packing his bag, throwing pencils and pens and notebooks in with no regard for order. "Just leave me alone."

"Noted!" Shigure says, and his look of glee will certainly haunt Yuki's nightmares. And probably come back to bite him in the ass. 

It’s clear the powers that be don’t want Yuki to study anywhere else. He’s accepted defeat. He's going to have to swallow his pride and return to the library. 

_ Abandon all hope, you who enter, _ indeed. 


	2. Sobriquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuki returns to the library.

Stepping over the threshold into the library is relatively anticlimactic. 

It’s not that Yuki’s anticipating a ticker-tape parade to his normal table, exactly, but it seems too perfectly mundane. He can hear the faint hum of computers whirring at the workstations and the vague murmurs drifting up the stairs from the children’s section, the expected soundtrack to his normal routine. The regulars are all posted in their usual corners; he’s pleased to note that even after a few weeks away, his seat is still free. Nothing seems terribly amiss. It’s like he never left. 

Maybe Yuki was just making it a bigger deal than it needed to be. It wouldn’t be the first time, though he hates to admit to his occasional penchant for dramatics. 

Machi smiles - as much as she ever does - when he greets her at the desk. It occurs to him that maybe she misses their brief chats, which cheers him a bit. “Yuki,” she says with a nod. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright, thank you,” he says, and he’s grateful she doesn’t press about his absence. He’s not even sure what he would say.  _ I spilled coffee on the new librarian and I’ve been too mortified to show my face since?  _ That would certainly show off his well-honed social skills. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask-”

Yuki falters under the weight of an arm suddenly slung around his shoulder. “Well if it isn’t our favorite patron.” 

“Manabe,” Machi says warningly. 

“What?” he asks, blinking innocently at her. Yuki stiffens under his arm, but Kakeru doesn’t budge. “I’m being friendly.” 

“You’re being annoying,” she corrects. “There’s a difference.” 

“You’re so cold to me,” he says, though his tone remains relatively unruffled. Machi’s deadpan could probably pierce the most ironclad ego, but Kakeru must be used to it already, Yuki thinks.

He extracts his arm from Yuki’s shoulder all the same, jamming his hands into his pockets. 

“So,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

Machi rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a fast food drive-through window,” she says. 

“I’m just trying to be accommodating,” he says. He studies Yuki as though he’s a specimen under a microscope and not just another university student here to utilize the library. “Or are you looking for anything specific? We're here for all of your library needs. Help me help you." He talks with his hands, Yuki notices, palms and fingers and wrists blurring as he babbles. 

Yuki’s at a loss for a moment, eyes flitting back and forth between Machi and Kakeru. “I actually need a book from the reference section,” he says at last, digging through his bag for his econ syllabus. He hands the crumpled paper to Machi, who smooths it out to read over it. 

He expects her to step back from behind the desk like she normally does, leading him to the reference section with the short, precise strides he’s come to associate with her, head bowed with a no-nonsense forward momentum.

Instead, she hands the syllabus to Kakeru. “You remember how to use the reference lookup?” she asks. 

“Yeah!” he says, and then - slightly less enthusiastically - “I think so.” 

“Just come back if you need help,” she says, waving him off. “But try not to need help.” 

Yuki can feel Machi’s eyes on them even as he’s walking away, but she’s utterly inscrutable and he can’t for the life of him guess what she’s thinking. 

Kakeru and Yuki traverse the library in stifling silence; when they reach the stacks, the ambient noise of the rest of the library fades away and they’re left with only the sounds of their footfalls. When Kakeru stops abruptly, Yuki slams into his back. 

“Sorry,” he says, cursing himself for not paying attention. 

Kakeru doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward or anything.” 

For the first time, Kakeru looks self-conscious, stretching one arm over the other in the narrow space between the shelves. He still hasn’t turned around to make eye contact. “I know I’ve kind of got a tendency to just fuck around and make a bad situation worse.” 

He should keep it short and simple _. It's fine. All good. No apology necessary. Now about that book - _

“Why didn’t you ever come back for your coffee?” Yuki wants to scramble to cram the words back into his mouth the moment they’ve slipped off his tongue. 

“Honestly? You seemed pretty freaked out. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.” Kakeru finally turns around, studying him with an intensity Yuki wasn’t sure he was capable of. 

"I wasn't freaked out," Yuki protests weakly, but he can see that Kakeru can see the blush dusting his pale cheeks by the way he smirks. 

"So it's alright if I come back?" 

"It was always alright," Yuki says, and he sincerely hopes Kakeru recognizes his  _ yes.  _

Kakeru reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. Yuki flinches, but doesn't pull away. A touch like that might take some getting used to. 

But he doesn’t hate it, necessarily.

“So we’re cool?” Kakeru asks, pulling his hand back and out of Yuki's personal space. 

Yuki laughs in spite of himself. “Yeah, sure. Cool.” 

“Then on to the reference section!” Kakeru declares, and Yuki thinks he’s lucky they’re stuffed between shelves of books to absorb the sound. 

The last time a software update was released for the reference section computer, shoulder pads and bottle cap glasses were still in vogue. At least, Yuki thinks so every time he looks at the clunky beige behemoth. 

"She takes a minute to heat up. Sorry," Kakeru says, as though Yuki doesn't likely know the machine better than he does anyway. He drums his fingers impatiently against the counter.

"It's fine. I'm not in a hurry."

Kakeru pats the console affectionately, as though it's a troublesome child and not an ancient collection of hardware. "Good. Harriet here likes to take her time."

"Harriet?"

"It fits, right?" Kakeru's eyes light up, and Yuki wonders how long he's been waiting to tell someone that he named the computer. 

"Sure," Yuki says, and the part of him that actually took notes in abnormal psych freshman year wishes he could see what's going on inside Kakeru's brain. 

"The computer up at the circ desk is named Mia. She's a modern woman," he says matter-of-factly. 

"What, no male computers?" 

"Huh." Kakeru furrows his brow, staring off into the reference section as he ponders this revelation. He taps his fingers against the computer - the loading bar still inching its way forward - while he thinks. 

"So have you worked at the coffee shop a long time?" Kakeru asks once he's snapped out of his trance. 

"Since my freshman year," Yuki says.

"Nice gig. I always thought I'd make a good barista."

"Yeah, it's very glamorous." Yuki rolls his eyes, watching as Kakeru jiggles the computer mouse on a vain attempt to speed up the boot up process. 

It doesn't work. In fact, Yuki thinks the loading bar might be creeping backward ever so slightly out of spite. 

"Seems like a pretty cushy job to land as a freshman. I got stuck working the dining halls. How’d you swing it?"

"My cousin is the manager," Yuki says through a cringe. The nepotism of it all makes him feel dirty sometimes, but then he remembers that he's working for Shigure of all people and he feels that it's probably even in the grand karmic scheme of things. 

"Ah, family ties. That'll do it."

Yuki bristles in spite of himself. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Huh? Nothing," Kakeru looks like a deer caught in the headlights when he whips his head around to face Yuki. "I mean, I only got my job because of my sister."

"Your sister?" 

"Yeah? Machi?" 

"Right." Yuki presses a hand to his forehead, willing himself to  _ be a little chill, maybe _ . "I didn't realize you two were…"

"Half-siblings, technically."

"Got it." Some part of Yuki expects Kakeru to elaborate, but he turns back to the computer - Harriet, Yuki reminds himself - and taps at the screen. 

"Come on, old girl. I believe in you."

"Do computers often respond to positive reinforcement?" Yuki asks. 

"I don't know, but I figure anything is worth trying once. And to be honest, I don't think I could bring myself to verbally abuse dear old Harriet. She's like… the grandmother of computers. She probably knits cute little sweaters for her iPhone grandbabies or something." Kakeru shrugs and tries wiggling the mouse, tracing out curlicues and figure-eights over the loading screen. Harriet continues a painstakingly slow trudge forward, the loading bar edging ahead like an elderly matron in a crosswalk. 

They both watch. And wait. 

Yuki decides he is starting to lose his grip on reality. He's not sure if he's been here in the reference section for hours or minutes or years. 

At last, the desktop flickers to life and Kakeru lets out a short cheer. 

"Oh shit," he says, dropping his voice. "I should probably be a little quieter, huh?" 

"Maybe."

Kakeru cracks his knuckles - and then his neck, as if he's gearing up to run a race and not a database search - and pulls up the reference system. 

He examines Yuki's syllabus, painstakingly typing into the search bar before handing it back. He hums something - is that a cartoon theme song? - to himself as the results page loads. 

"Pen, pen, pen," he murmurs to himself, hand drifting over the desk until he finds something to write with. He scribbles a set of numbers onto a sticky note, his brow furrowed and his tongue caught between his teeth as he glances back and forth from the screen to the notepad. 

He holds it up to appraise his work, finally nodding when he's satisfied. "Alright. Let's see if I remember how to do this."

It doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but Yuki follows Kakeru anyway, trailing behind as he carves a path through the stacks. Yuki nearly smacks into his back again when Kakeru jerks to a stop in front of one of the shelves. Kakeru doesn't notice, his fingers dancing over the spines as he references his note again.

"Now we're in business," he says, pulling a book out at last. 

He presents it to Yuki with an exaggerated flourish. "Is this your card?" 

Yuki checks his syllabus to confirm, then reaches out to take the book. “This is it. Thank you.” 

At least this time when their fingers ghost over each other, he doesn't fumble catastrophically. 

“Awesome,” Kakeru says, and he reaches out to attach his sticky note to Yuki’s arm. “A gift. For you.” 

Yuki snorts and peels the note off his sweater, then folds it up and tucks it into his pocket. “I’ll treasure it.” 

Yuki’s never considered himself short, exactly but he finds himself nearly jogging to keep up with Kakeru’s long strides as he leads him out of the reference section and into the library proper. 

“Oh man.” Kakeru runs a hand through his hair as they walk. “Hm.” 

“Yes?” 

“I didn’t tell Harriet goodbye. That’s kind of rude, don’t you think?” 

“The computer?” 

Kakeru waves a hand dismissively. “You know what? I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“Right.” As demanding as it is to try to keep up with Kakeru’s pace, attempting to follow his train of thought is making Yuki feel like he’s on a hamster wheel. 

“Machi!” Kakeru stage-whispers as he approaches her desk. “I have returned from my quest, princess rescued, dragon slain, elixir acquired, all that jazz.” 

Machi pointedly ignores him, looking up instead to meet Yuki’s eyes. “Did you find what you needed?” 

“I did, thank you.” 

“Have you been treating Mia right since I’ve been gone?” Kakeru asks, stretching out across the counter. Yuki is struck by the way he takes up space, commands it, claims ownership; he doesn’t shrink away or edge himself into a corner. 

He tells himself that he’s feeling annoyed about it. Not jealous. Never jealous. Irritated. Put-out. Irked. Not jealous. 

“We are not naming the computers,” Machi says evenly. “You’re being ridiculous.” 

“You’re just jealous because Harriet likes me better.” 

“Patently false.” 

“I love you.” He bats his lashes at her. 

Machi rolls her eyes and pulls a stack of books out from behind the desk. “Go. Shelve.” 

Kakeru’s mumbled lamentations catch the eyes of a few concerned patrons as he wanders off with his new task. Machi pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. “Let me know if he’s bothering you,” she says before returning to her own work. 

“Right. I will.” 

Once he’s taken his spot at his regular table, Yuki splits his time between jotting down notes from the reference book and watching as Kakeru criss-crosses the library like he’s on some kind of deranged scavenger hunt. 

There’s got to be a more efficient method, Yuki thinks as Kakeru flits back and forth between shelves. At this point, he thinks the librarian has walked the perimeter of the library at least a dozen times and he’s still got half of his stack left to shelve. 

When his stomach grumbles, Yuki realizes that it’s nearly four in the afternoon and he hasn’t eaten yet today. He checks the page number of the last page he annotated, jots it down in the corner of his notes, and slides his notebook into his bag. 

As luck would have it, Kakeru’s erratic flight path deposits him at Yuki’s table just as he’s shoving his pen away, where it will no doubt get lost in the mess of highlighters, crumpled pamphlets, and granola bar wrappers.

“Heading out?” Kakeru asks, sliding easily into the seat across from Yuki. 

“Yeah,” Yuki says, and he’s reminded fleetingly of one of one of those waiters that’s way too invested in making sure he’s enjoyed his meal.  _ How’s the salad? Refill? Can I get you anything?  _

“Anything planned for the weekend?” 

The question catches Yuki off-guard; he’s not sure he’s said this many words out loud in one visit to the library since he started coming here to study. “Working. Studying. You?”

“Nothing in particular! Chilling out, hanging out, seeing where the wind takes me.” Kakeru leans back in his chair, stretching, and Yuki is struck again by how tall he is. “Working today?” 

“No,” Yuki says. “I’m off this evening.” 

Kakeru rolls back the sleeve of his sweater to check his watch and Yuki notices for the first time that his nails are painted black. “Ugh, lucky,” he says. “I’ve got a couple hours before I can go home. Machi still has to show me how to close, and I think she’d actually rather die.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know if you can tell from the  _ everything about me, _ ” Kakeru says, gesturing broadly to himself, “but I have some pretty intense ADHD. I’m probably lucky she hasn’t killed me yet.” 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Yuki says, trying to hide a smile. 

“Shut up, it’s literally the first thing people pick up on. It’s why I’m so  _ annoying _ .” Kakeru was smiling before but he’s  _ beaming _ now, unselfconsciously, the kind that shows off all his teeth. “Okay, maybe it’s not the first thing people notice. But close!” 

“You’re not  _ that _ annoying,” Yuki says. 

Kakeru leans forward, studying him. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic so I'll simply have to accept this at face value."

Yuki stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Kakeru watches him from the chair, all sprawled out and devil-may-care in a way that Yuki has never felt in public. He finally springs to his feet when Yuki offers him an awkward parting wave on his way to the circulation desk. 

“Oh, I can take that for you!” Kakeru says, reaching out for the reference book. 

Their hands don’t brush this time as Yuki hands it over; it’s more of a concerted effort than he would like to admit. 

“Are you going to need it again? I could hold onto it for you so we don’t have to trouble Harriet next time.” 

“Yeah, I think I will,” Yuki says. 

“Alright, when should I expect you to come back for it?” 

For a moment, Yuki’s brain blue-screens much like he’d expect Harriet to under duress. “Soon?” he finally manages. “I’ll need it again before class next week.” 

Kakeru claps him on the shoulder in a way that’s starting to become familiar. “Alright, I’ll see you around then.” He starts whistling what sounds like another cartoon theme song as he takes off toward the reference section, but a pointed glare from one of the elderly patrons shames him into a hum that peters out once he reaches the stacks, muffled to nothing by paper and leather binding. 

Once again, Yuki forgets to ask Machi for her coffee order on the way out. 

✱

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Yuki sends up a prayer of gratitude to whatever deity deposited Tohru into his life, and he reminds himself to text her on his break to thank her for reminding him to grab an umbrella on the way out. 

“Gross,” Kyo groans as Yuki stumbles in, dripping water onto the welcome mat at the front of the shop. “It looks disgusting out there.” 

“You can take my umbrella when you go,” Yuki says, leaning it against the wall while he reaches for his apron. “I think -” he pauses, trying to muffle his yawn. “I think it’s supposed to clear up by this afternoon.” 

“Thanks. You piss Shigure off?” Kyo asks, setting a finished iced latte out on the counter for a customer. 

“Huh?” Yuki asks, blinking at him blearily. 

“You hate working mornings.” 

“Yeah?” 

“The last time he made you work the morning shift it was because you called him - wait, what  _ exactly  _ did you call him again?” 

“Oh, right,” Yuki says. “‘E.L. James with less commercial success.’” 

“Yeah, that.” It’s true; Shigure had exiled Yuki to the morning shift for two weeks as a balm for his bruised ego. In an even more cruel twist, he had been forced to work almost exclusively with Ritsu and Kagura. Their neuroses were like another coworker entirely, someone Yuki had to take great pains not to bump into while laboring behind the counter. 

Even though Yuki didn’t apologize, Shigure must have taken pity on him after a while, because he finally relented and started scheduling him for afternoons and evenings again. 

It’s also possible he just got tired of Tohru’s drawn brows and concerned line of questioning every shift-change. Shigure is a piece of work, but no one is immune to Tohru’s inadvertent guilt-trips. 

“I don’t think I did anything specific, this time,” Yuki says, and he fumbles with the espresso machine for a moment before Kyo takes over. He really does think that sometimes Shigure schedules him for the early shift purely for his own amusement, just because he can. 

“I don’t get how you’re still so useless in the mornings,” Kyo grumbles, handing Yuki a paper cup. 

“Thanks.” Yuki doesn’t wait for the coffee to cool before taking a sip. 

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, you know that?” 

“Mhmm.” Yuki winces at the slight burn, but he’s used to it by now. A small price to pay for a meager grip on reality in the morning. “At least I don’t drink green juice,” he says. 

“Whatever.” 

The morning rush has all but died down, but the coffeeshop still swirls with sound, idle chatter and clacking keys and soft instrumental music leaking from the speakers. 

“Rin should be here soon,” Kyo says. “Are you alright on your own until she gets here or are you going to pass out on your feet again?” 

Yuki rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t yet have the energy to feel murderous. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

“Alright.” Kyo stretches his arms above his head. “These overnights kill me. Remind me why we’re open twenty-four hours.” 

“Because Shigure is in charge and he’s never made a responsible decision in the two and a half decades he’s been alive.” 

“Fair point.” Kyo pins his apron to the hook and grabs Yuki’s umbrella. “Thanks again.” 

“No problem,” Yuki says, but he’s sluggish and still under-caffeinated, so the words hit the empty air where Kyo used to be. 

After staring at the bottom of his paper cup for what feels like half an hour, Yuki hauls himself back over to the espresso machine to fix himself a proper latte. He’s popping a plastic lid on top when Rin bursts through the door, her long dark hair soaked and streaming behind her. 

“Hi,” she says shortly, shrugging off her leather jacket and deftly tying her apron. He doesn’t point out that she’s late. She yanks her hair away from her neck, pulling it back into a severe ponytail. 

He’ll have to watch out for that; he’s caught the wrong end of a Rin Sohma Hair Whip on more than one occasion, and he’s not eager to repeat the experience. 

“Hey, Rin.” 

She leans up against the counter, looking ridiculously cool and making him feel like a dork in his sweater by comparison. 

“Why does Haru think you’re on the run from the mob?” 

Yuki cringes into his coffee. “Why does Haru ever think anything, Rin? I don’t know.” 

“Let me know if you need help hiding a body.” 

“I might.”  _ Haru’s. _

Rin is a quiet companion, taking advantage of the downtime to doodle idly on a napkin while she eats a yogurt parfait from the icebox. Yuki serves customers in between pages of his required reading for his classics class, finally stowing the book beneath the register when students coming off their first lecture of the day start to trickle into the shop. 

It’s not like the rhythm he’s established with Kyo or Tohru, but Rin and Yuki operate like a well-oiled machine, especially now that he’s got a few cups of coffee in his system. They dance around each other like the gears of a clock, fluid and efficient. 

He lets out a contented sigh when the line has thinned out and the last customer grabs their coffee from the counter. 

Rin returns to her napkin doodles without a word. All things considered, she’s friendlier than she used to be; it didn’t help at first that Haru still refers to Yuki as his first love. But compared to the early years they knew each other, she’s practically bubbly, overflowing with sentiment. 

Yuki will take what he can get, he supposes. At least she hasn’t kicked his ass yet. He knows she’s fully capable of it. 

Shigure swaggers through the front door as the rain is starting to clear, his smile too smug for Yuki’s liking, especially this early. “Good morning,” he chirps. “Rin, Yuki. How are we holding up?”

“Fine,” Rin says. 

“Yeah.” 

“You two are talkative as always,” Shigure says, nonplussed, offering an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Keep that energy.” 

“I hate him so fucking much,” Yuki seethes when Shigure disappears into the back room. 

“He’s just lucky I hate job-hunting more,” Rin says, and Yuki is pleased that they’ve found another point upon which they agree. 

They lapse back into their characteristic silence, Rin folding her napkin doodle, depositing it in her pocket, and starting a new one while Yuki tries to find something to keep himself occupied. 

“Yuki.” He’s scrubbing down the espresso machine when he hears Rin call his name. When he turns, he nearly stumbles back with the force of Kakeru’s thousand-watt smile. 

“Hey!” Kakeru says. “I hoped you would be working today.” 

_ Next one’s on you.  _

“I’ve got it,” he tells Rin. She shrugs and steps away from the register. 

“I’m going to go grab some more coconut milk from the back,” she says. “If you’ve got everything under control.” 

She leaves him at the register alone - well, not alone, exactly. 

“Good to see you,” he tells Kakeru, and he’s worried it might sound like a lie even though it isn’t, strictly speaking. 

“Likewise.” Kakeru leans against the counter, just the same way he does when he’s at the library. Yuki wishes he could feel that comfortable anywhere. Sometimes he feels uptight even within the confines of his own home, let alone out in the world.

“What can I get for you?” Yuki asks, permanent marker poised over paper cup. 

“Caramel latte. Oh, with almond milk. Thanks!” Kakeru fishes his wallet from his pocket, but Yuki waves him off.

“I owe you,” he says. 

“Huh? Oh!” Kakeru claps a hand to his forehead, letting out a laugh that startles a girl at her laptop in the corner. “Right! I forgot about that.” 

“Really?” 

“Nah, I think about it pretty much every day, it’s still one of the most hilarious things that’s ever happened to me.” 

Yuki swivels around to yank the espresso machine lever, thankful for an excuse to hide his beet-red face. 

“So if nothing else,” Kakeru continues, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the whir of the machine, “thank you for a lifetime of entertainment.” 

“Yeah,” Yuki says sarcastically, turning around once he’s fairly certain he’s got his blush under control. “Happy to help.” 

He pops a lid securely onto the paper cup and slides it into a drink sleeve, setting it deliberately on the counter in the interest of avoiding disaster. 

Kakeru frowns as he examines his cup. 

“Is there something wrong?” Yuki asks. “Caramel latte, right? With almond milk?” 

“Yeah,” he says, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “But you didn’t ask for my name.” 

“I know your name,” Yuki says, perplexed.

“But I  _ like _ when you ask my name, because then you have to write ‘Sho’.” 

“But that’s not your name.” 

“But I like when people call me that.” 

Yuki rolls his eyes, but tries to recover when he remembers that, technically, he’s still speaking to a customer. “Kakeru is a fine name.” 

“Maybe you’re just jealous that you don’t have a nickname.” 

“I’m not.”

“Hmm, I think you are. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with one for you,” Kakeru assures him. 

“Please don’t.” 

Kakeru studies him, popping off the lid of his coffee to blow on it. “It’s a delicate process. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” 

“You really don’t have to come up with a nickname for me. Yuki is fine.” 

Kakeru shrugs, taking a sip of his still-too-hot coffee. “Damn it,” he hisses. 

“It’s hot,” Yuki says flatly. 

“Yeah, thanks for that.” 

“Anything else I can get you?” 

He leans forward to study the pastries in the case, nose inches away from the glass before he pops back up again. “Do you have a recommendation?” 

“The muffins are pretty good.” 

Kakeru appraises the muffins again, humming to himself.  _ Is he ever quiet?  _ Yuki thinks. As far as he can tell, Kakeru is a constant storm of noise and motion. 

“Cranberry orange!” Kakeru decides at last. 

Yuki cringes, but digs out a sheet of wax paper to grab one anyway. 

“What’s wrong?” Kakeru furrows his brow, the smile dropping from his face. “You’re making a face.” 

“Huh?” 

“Is cranberry orange bad? Did I make the wrong choice?” 

“I prefer blueberry,” Yuki says. 

Kakeru bites his lip. “Shit,” he says. “Fuck it, I’ll get blueberry too.” 

“Two muffins?” 

“Sure!” Kakeru says, brightening. “If the cranberry orange is ass, I’ll eat the blueberry one. If not, I’ll give it to Machi. I think she likes blueberry.” 

“Solid logic,” Yuki admits. Kakeru reaches for his wallet again, but Yuki waves him off, handing over his paper bag. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“If I knew I was going to get a free coffee and  _ two _ whole muffins out of the whole ordeal, I would’ve gotten coffee spilled on me years ago.” 

“Sounds like a foolproof plan,” Yuki says. 

“You know, you could get in on it with me. It could be a real heist.” 

“We’ve got about forty cents in every muffin. I don’t think it’s a sustainable long-con.” 

Kakeru points at Yuki enthusiastically, nearly dropping his bag of muffins. “See! I need a logistics guy.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s stopping you from building an empire on illicit muffins.” 

“You  _ get it _ ,” Kakeru says. “Listen, think about it, it’s a standing offer. I really think we could be an unstoppable criminal duo.” 

“I don’t think I was built for a life of crime, even if it revolves around baked goods, but I’ll give it some serious consideration.” 

Kakeru checks his watch and lets out a soft groan. “Well, this has been great, it was good to see you, but I do actually have to get to work.”

“Tell Machi I said hi,” Yuki says. “And enjoy your muffin.” 

“Will do! See you around!” 

With a wave, he steps out of the coffeeshop and into the sun. 

Yuki watches him go, trying - and failing, for the most part - to wrap his brain around their conversation. 

“So that’s the guy you’ve got a crush on,” Rin says when she returns, a carton of coconut milk in hand. “You’re lucky it got slow there for a minute.” 

“Wha - no,” Yuki says, shaking his head. “I do not have a crush, especially not on  _ that _ guy.” 

“Oh,” Rin says flatly. “I wasn’t asking.” 

“What makes you think I have a crush?” 

Rin stares at him, intense eyes matching her dagger-sharp eyeliner. “I’m not blind.” 

“I was just being friendly,” Yuki says, grabbing a rag to occupy his hands. 

“Sure.” 

“What am I supposed to do? Be  _ rude _ to a customer?” 

Rin shrugs. “I think there’s a pretty big difference between ‘not rude’ and whatever that was.” 

“He works at the library,” Yuki says. “I don’t want to get on his bad side.” 

“What, there aren’t any other librarians there who can come in clutch for you?” 

Yuki breathes a sigh of relief when a new customer approaches the counter, and he lets the whir of the espresso machine drown out the noise in his head. 

The sun is out by the time Yuki leaves for his afternoon lecture, swapping places with an enthusiastic Momiji, who insists on making him another cup of coffee before he goes. 

The class is pretty dry, as it usually is, but the rest of the day passes without incident and the walk back to his apartment is pleasant despite a slight chill. Nevertheless, it’s still a relief to open the door to Tohru’s smile and the smell of dinner cooking. 

“Welcome home,” she calls from the kitchen. Yuki drops his bag by the door and kicks off his wingtips, remembering at the last second to put them on the rack Tohru bought because Kyo kept tripping on stray shoes in the doorway. 

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

They’re both in the kitchen, Kyo watching Tohru watching the soup as it bubbles. She looks adorable with her hair tied back and her apron fastened around her waist, and the heart-eyes energy is pumping off of Kyo in waves. Yuki is going to need them to get their shit together eventually; in the coffeeshop pool, he’s got money on the two of them getting together by Christmastime. 

Kyo and Tohru are oblivious enough that it might actually take until Valentine’s Day. Maybe Momiji was right after all. 

At the very least, least they’ve both surpassed Haru, who optimistically suggested that Kyo and Tohru would admit their feelings for each other within a week of the start of term. 

Amateur.    


“Chicken noodle soup!” Tohru tells him, beaming. 

“No chives this time,” Kyo says, arms crossed. Tohru winces and mouths a silent apology; she’d committed a cardinal sin and included them in the last batch. 

“Picky,” Yuki chides, rolling his eyes. He remembers Kyo turning his nose up at leeks and miso when they were kids on the family estate. Not much has changed. 

When Yuki turns around to grab a set of bowls from the cabinet, he catches Kyo out of the corner of his eye bumping his knuckles against Tohru’s hair. “I’m not mad about the chives, you goof.” 

It’s nice to have these moments, Yuki thinks as he slides the salt to Kyo. The term has been a pretty busy one so far for all of them, but the chaos of their days usually smooths over once they reach the dinner table. Tohru is like a human sedative, Yuki thinks, lulling them into a peaceful rapport. 

He definitely wouldn’t have been able to share a home with Kyo when they were freshmen; it feels like a lifetime has gone by, but it’s just been a handful of years. 

“We should have a game night soon,” Tohru says. “Hana and Uo mentioned that they’d like to hang out sometime.” 

“Yeah, more like they want you to cook for them,” Kyo grumbles.

“And what did Tohru just do for you?” Yuki asks, settling into the muscle memory of a familiar smirk. 

“I - well, would it kill  _ you _ to cook every once in a while?” 

Alright, so maybe it is nice to have a pleasant, peaceful friendship with his roommates. But he likes having  _ this _ too. 

“It probably would,” Tohru chimes in. “He did nearly burn the apartment down the last time he tried to heat up a bagel in the toaster oven.”

“Hopeless!” Kyo says. 

“Game night.” Yuki pivots, swiveling the conversation back around. “We should have everyone over, you’re right.” 

“I think it would be a lot of fun.” 

“I am  _ not _ playing that stupid card game,” Kyo says. 

“And Monopoly is probably out in the interest of keeping everyone’s limbs attached to their bodies,” Yuki adds. Kyo nods grimly in agreement. 

Arisa Uotani can be a hell of a sore loser. 

“I don’t really care what we play,” Tohru says, gathering up their now-empty bowls. “As long as we’re all together.” 

The weather is still moderate, so after Yuki and Tohru are done with the dishes, he puts a kettle on to boil, makes a cup of tea, and sits on the stairs leading to the patio. He loves that they have this space, a little corner of the outdoors that they were never afforded when they lived in the dormitories. Before the leaves have stripped away and the weather chills, he wants to take advantage of it while he can. 

“Can I join you?” Tohru asks, bumping her slippered feet against his leg. 

“Of course.” She lowers herself down next to him with her own cup of tea. Sighing contentedly, she breathes in the aroma from her mug. It’s something sweet and heady and herbal, probably the same thing Yuki is drinking, something Kyo bought that’s supposed to help with falling asleep. 

Jury’s still out on whether or not it’s actually working - Yuki still finds himself lying awake staring at the ceiling most nights - but at the very least, it tastes nice. 

“You seem to be feeling better lately,” Tohru says. 

“Really?” 

“I can’t place it, exactly.” Her breath skims over the top of her mug, rippling the tea as it disperses heat and steam. “But you seem a little lighter.” 

If nothing else, he’s glad Tohru isn’t fretting over him anymore. He still feels a twinge of guilt behind his ribs when he thinks about the fact that he made her worry. 

When his tea is cool enough to drink, Yuki savors the faint taste of peppermint.

She nudges his shoulder with her own. “You know, I haven’t had a shift with you in a while. I hope Shigure schedules us together sometime soon.” 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” 

She hums her agreement into the rim of her mug, finally satisfied with the temperature of her tea. “Maybe I’ll ask him when he’s making the next schedule.” 

Yuki wonders if she realizes she has their manager wrapped around her finger, or if she thinks he’s that kind to everyone.  _ Oh well, _ he thinks.  _ At least she’s using her powers for good. _

“How was your presentation?” he asks when he remembers that she had one this afternoon. 

“It was fine,” she says, voice pinched just slightly. “I’m still not very good at public speaking.” 

His hand finds her knee and he taps gently. “I’m sure you were great.” 

“I hope so.” She sighs, then inhales deeply to calm herself. 

The quiet moments he shares with Tohru aren’t like any others; she runs deep and steady, and she’s had an almost tranquilizing effect on him ever since he met her. It’s nice to live with someone who lets his walls fall down, someone who allows him to inhabit a vulnerable space. Moving out of his house did wonders for his health, but moving into an apartment with Tohru and Kyo was like breathing in oxygen for the first time. 

He rests his head on her shoulder, inhaling the night air and the smell of her vanilla body lotion. 

“I should go to bed,” he mumbles after a while. He finishes the rest of his tea, now lukewarm, and tries to blink away the drowsiness creeping in.  _ Was I that tired? _

“I should too.” Yuki stands, then reaches down to pulls her up off the stoop. 

“Thank." Tohru drinks what remains of her own tea, glancing briefly at the little garden in the corner of the patio. “Do you think the carrots will be ready to pull up soon?” 

“Should be,” he says. “Maybe we can dig them up this weekend.” 

“Perfect.” When she moves away, he follows her back into the apartment, locking the door behind him and knowing he’s safe inside. 

✱

Yuki is  _ stewing.  _ He’s trying not to, he really is, but this day is determined to bring out the worst in him. Kagura was late for her shift - something about a group presentation running over - which meant he barely made it to his afternoon lecture on time, and he felt unimaginably awkward hunting for a seat while the professor shuffled papers at the lectern preparing to get started. He swore he could actually feel his cortisol spiking, and he didn’t come down once the class was over. 

Kyo was in a shit mood when he got home and Tohru is visiting her grandfather for the weekend. In fact, it’s probably  _ because _ Tohru is away that Kyo’s being such an ass, so he’s annoyed all over again that the two of them won’t just talk to each other about whatever is going on between them. 

Tohru bought groceries before she left, but Yuki still lacks the capacity to turn them into anything edible for lunch, and the food he ordered from his favorite restaurant was cold by the time it was delivered. 

The universe is conspiring against him. Conspiring with postmates. Against him.    


On top of that, the group message for his comms class has been pinging non-stop because they have another outline due tomorrow, which he conveniently forgot about until picking up his phone and scrolling through the panicked backlog. 

So much for a free afternoon. As he steps into the quiet, climate-controlled hush of the library, Yuki takes stock of the situation, quickly filing information into its respective boxes in his brain. 

Pro: the library is still open. 

Con: someone is sitting at his table. 

Another con: that someone is Kakeru. 

“Hey!” Kakeru, to his credit, isn’t as obnoxious as he could be when he waves to Yuki, flashing him a crooked grin. “Do you need that reference book again?”

“Are you working?” Yuki asks, eyes scanning the table where Kakeru’s belongings are strung out, his laptop open and notebooks askew. 

“Not technically!” Kakeru says cheerfully. “But I kept it out for you so it’ll be pretty easy to pull if you need it.” 

“Yeah,” Yuki says. “Thanks.”

“Make yourself at home,” Kakeru says, shoving his own study materials to one side of the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

Yuki plugs in his laptop - grateful that this table has access to an outlet - and digs out his notebook. His search for a pen is fruitless; he’s pretty sure the bottom of his bag is actually a tear in the fabric of space-time that sucks writing utensils into another dimension, but saying that out loud would make him sound like Haru. His headphones are missing too. Insult to injury and whatnot. 

“Hi, Machi,” he says, approaching the circulation desk. 

“Hi.” It must be a slow day; Machi sets a bookmark between the pages of her book and looks up at him, grey eyes intense. 

“Would you mind if I borrow a pen?” 

Machi scrabbles around for her pen cup, holding it out to him. “I have pencils too,” she offers. 

“A pen is fine.” 

“I wish I had that kind of confidence. I always need to erase something.” 

He doesn’t really have the capacity to explain to her that it’s less  _ confidence _ and more  _ deriving a sick sense of pleasure from scribbling through what he’s written. _

“Yuki,” she says abruptly. “You can tell me if he’s bothering you.” 

“Huh?” 

“Manabe.” 

“Oh.” Right. Him. “He’s fine.” 

Machi studies him intensely, more closely than he’s ever paid mind to his schoolwork. It’s a little uncanny, Yuki thinks. It’s almost like she’s taking him apart with her eyeballs to see how he ticks. 

“Alright,” she says at last. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it. 

“Thank you, though,” Yuki says. “And for the pen.” 

“You’re welcome.” With nothing left to say, she returns to her book, removing the bookmark in one fluid motion. 

Kakeru presents Yuki with the reference book when he returns. “A gift for you,” he says. 

“Oh,” Yuki deadpans. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

Kakeru huffs a laugh, shoving his earbuds in and turning back to his work. 

Yuki flips through his notebook, but he can’t find the notes from his last session. Biting back a groan, he realizes that he must have picked up the wrong one. The correct notebook, it would seem, is buried under a pile of laundry in his apartment. He has a vague memory of dumping out his bag earlier in the afternoon in a vain attempt to find his campus ID, and he must have only restored half its contents. It’s not a huge deal, but he’ll have to flip through the book to find where he left off, and he’s afraid he’ll end up missing information. 

He’s hesitant to ask if it could get worse for fear that the universe will take it as a challenge, but it’s been a pretty shit terrible day. 

Kakeru sighs and pops a headphone out of his ear. 

“You good, dude?” he asks.

“Fine. Why?” If there’s a bite to Yuki’s voice, it’s only sort of intentional. 

“You’re making a face.” Kakeru scrunches his eyes and purses his lips in his best approximation of Yuki’s resting bitch face. “Am I annoying you?” 

“No.”  _ But you will be if you keep this up. _

“Well then what's the issue?" Kakeru asks, and Yuki almost rolls his eyes before realizing that Kakeru is sincere. He's leaning forward, chin resting on his hand, his dark eyes studying Yuki intently while he waits for an answer. 

"Forgot my headphones at home," Yuki says. It’s the least of his problems, but not technically a lie. He’s hoping it’s enough to get Kakeru off his back. 

"Oh," Kakeru says. "You can borrow mine?" 

"You have an extra pair?" 

"Nah, these ones." Kakeru unplugs them from the headphone jack and holds them out across the table. 

"Oh, no. That's okay."

“Seriously, take ‘em.” 

“But you need them too, don’t you?” 

Kakeru shrugs. "Then we'll share." He slides around to the other side of the table, balancing his laptop on his knees, then hands Yuki one half of the headphones.

Yuki has never met someone with less regard for personal space. He shoves an earbud into his ear anyway; Kakeru is persistent, if nothing else, and he’s really not in the mood to argue right now. 

“What are we listening to?” Yuki asks, finding his limbs stiff and his breath shallow. 

“Chill Lofi Hip-Hop Beats to Study-Slash-Vibe To,” Kakeru tells him. 

Yuki snorts. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, seriously!” Kakeru says. 

“I thought you’d be listening to something more…”

“Vibrant? Uptempo? Energetic?” Kakeru suggests. 

“Obnoxious.” 

Kakeru laughs, then drops his cackle to a low chuckle when he remembers, presumably, that not only are they in a library, but that he’s a librarian and should probably exhibit some decorum. “To be fair, most of my music taste is obnoxious. But I save that for when I’m not studying.” 

"Is that so?" 

Kakeru nods, nearly yanking the earbud from Yuki's ear. "What do you like to listen to?" 

It takes Yuki a while to come up with an answer. There are artists he likes, sure, but now that he's been asked it's as though he's never heard of a single band in his life. And frankly, it would be a little embarrassing to admit that, for the most part, he just listens to whatever Tohru is playing in the background while she does the dishes, and occasionally he enjoys the music he can hear from Kyo's room through their thin apartment walls. Sometimes, he just lets his Spotify pick and spaces out for a while. 

"Bastille," he says at last, mostly just so he's saying something. It's been so long since Kakeru asked that he seems, for a moment, to have forgotten the question. 

He waits a moment for Yuki to say something else, then asks, “Anything else?" 

Yuki shrugs. "I'm not really particular." He feels his cheeks heating up under the scrutiny of Kakeru's stare, and maybe he should have tried to come up with something a little more relevant. As an afterthought, he says, “Lorde?” 

“They’re both  _ fine… _ But that’s it?” Kakeru assumes a yes of Yuki’s silence, clucks his tongue and shakes his head like a disappointed parent. "We're going to have to work on that."

Yuki rolls his eyes and goes back to work, allowing Kakeru's assorted lo-fi beats to seep into the easy silence between them, harmonizing with light keystrokes and the occasional shuffling of paper. 

The outline comes together more easily than he had expected it to, which is no small blessing. A thick wave of exhaustion hits Yuki the moment he shuts his laptop. It’s a mercy that he was able to finish up before the headache he can feel taking root behind his eyes hits him full-force. He removes Kakeru’s earbud, setting it down on the table between them as he stuffs his things into his bag. He takes a moment to dig his fingers into his temples, trying to relieve some of the tension there before he needs to walk home. 

Yuki hides a yawn behind his hand, and he wonders idly if it’s too late in the day for a nap. 

“Heading home?” Kakeru asks, slamming his own laptop with a loud  _ clap.  _

“Yeah, I’m done for the day.” 

“Where do you live?”

“University Court,” Yuki says. It’s a huge complex just a few blocks away, and it houses most of the off-campus students. 

“Nice!” Kakeru says. “I’m over in Holden Circle. It’s a couple streets over. Let me walk with you?”

Yuki feels a burn in his legs when he stands - how long has he been here, anyway? He waves at Machi on the way out, as is their custom, and watches as Kakeru gives her his own goofy grin. 

It’s later than Yuki thought it would be. A cursory glance at his watch tells him he lost more time in the library than he realized. Sometimes it works like that. It feels like clocks stop but the hours don’t behind the heavy oak doors and between the stacks. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Kakeru says, head tilted up toward the red-gold autumn sky. “How about Yun-Yun?” 

“Absolutely not,” Yuki says, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. 

"It's a perfectly good nickname!" Kakeru protests. 

“I don’t want a nickname.” 

“Ah, yes, but consider: I want to give you a nickname.” Kakeru grins down at him, and Yuki is quite frankly  _ pissed _ that he’s so tall. 

"Yun-Yun? Seriously?"

"It's a great nickname!" 

"Are we six years old?" 

"It's _ageless_." 

“If you start calling me that I’ll never speak to you again.”  He feels childish for it - maybe he really is six years old - as soon as he’s said it out loud, but Kakeru lets out an indignant gasp and jostles his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be mean. We’re friends! We’re friends, right?” 

Yuki shrugs noncommittally, leaving Kakeru shouting at his back at the place where their paths divide. 

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d like to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading~! i'm @floraltohru on tumblr and twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to AnxietyAvocado (@TohrusHat on tumblr!!) for listening to my various rants and rambles. and helping with the title!!
> 
> i'm @floraltohru on tumblr. come say hi.
> 
> also like. heck if i know when these kids are going to class.


End file.
